


Hymn to Lust

by helena_s_renn



Category: Def Leppard, Music RPF
Genre: Feels, M/M, Switching, Tour Bus Sex, a bit of crack-y dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 20:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Almost Christmas, far from home, Sav'n'Joe give each other a gift or two.Sequel to "Red".





	Hymn to Lust

**Author's Note:**

> This is fiction. I own nothing and no one. Never happened as far as I know. 
> 
> Some of their conversation might be a bit crack. There is no mpreg in this world, in case anyone gets worried for a sec.
> 
> Beta, review, and general indulgence as always by ChristianHowe. Any remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Also used as a Ficmas prompt on Rockfic.

-1987

In the first storm of winter, the depths of the tour, that bus was their haven and salvation. They retreated giggling from the arena, high on adrenaline from the show and beyond exhausted. Sav's arm hooked around Joe's neck; his feet barely touched the ground as his frontman half-carried, half-dragged his lithe form out of some obscure side door through slush and snow into the waiting silvery coach. It was empty. They could let free their voices.

Joe's bunk stank of days' worth of sweat and come and decomposing socks, but considering Sav's was worse (his feet!) the agreement to compound the protein element in Joe's was entered into wordlessly. They were too busy pawing with lust-clumsy hands, sucking kisses from each other's mouths, trying to navigate steps then aisle while yanking off stage clothes to speak. But then, they really didn't need to. Lips attached to soft skin as they circled and pulled, the ventral aspect of Joe's upper arm, the hollow at the base of his throat, and that spot just to the right of Sav's Adam's apple. Teeth nipped and tugged earlobes where metal pierced; tongues twined together, mouth to mouth. 

The trail of clothing in their wake told a tale of frantic urgency: Studded belts snaked over and around Joe's Union Jack shirt, which lay frozen in its own sort of wave; Sav's entire outfit, a 3D puddle of black and stylised leopardskin. Ripped, acid-washed denim with one leg inside-out framed the coup de grace, tiny red pants - the result of some lost bet.

No one in their right mind took their socks off in the draughty bus. The air was chill enough to raise goose pimples but inside Joe's den with the curtain drawn and covers pulled up, little peaked nipples relaxed before pulling tight again in excitement and cold shrinkage filled out hard and proud rubbed by knowing hands plying the exact pace and twist.

It wasn't set in stone anymore, who did what or who did whom. As they fell upon each other in the tight space, the air swirled with musk and their gasps. Two warm, fit bodies rolled and flexed and rediscovered intimately familiar ground. 

Joe loosed the first moan. He could never get enough of Sav's hands on him, all over him. Once the semblance of security between the sheets was established, the bassist didn't know the meaning of words such as reserved and restrained. Fingers dug into Joe's biceps, his back, his arse, pinched his nipples, combed the hair on his chest then trailed downwards, through the tangle at his groin, pushed his legs apart. Being owned like that turned Joe on to no end, made him wet and ready. Sav added his own brand of spit and slick - stashed under Joe's pillow - rolled him on his back, sank into him so fast they were both groaning - too much, too soon, never enough - and rode him hard.

In the dark, there was nothing to see, it was all sensation. Friction. Movement. The age-old grind. Being taken, taken down, taken apart. How was it that, when it happened this way, Joe felt just as penetrated by Sav's mere presence as by any bodily part? 

Par for the first round, they fucked with the strength and energy to rock the bus on its old shock absorbers. Joe grabbed Sav's buttcheek in one hand and his hair in the other, tried to guide him, slow him down. Sav wasn't having it, exhausted or not. He fought for freedom of movement, as much as he could get in the confined space already too small for one man let alone two. Not his second wind of the night, perhaps the fourth or fifth. They would sleep when they'd anointed each other, and not until. 

If it burned, that was okay; it made Joe feel just how needed he was. Because he could do it unseen in the dark, no inhibition and no shame, he spread his thighs wide, arched like he was in heat, pushed against Sav, pulled him down and into himself till his balls cried for mercy. With each jab deeper, Sav punched breath and grunts from, Joe would swear, under his diaphragm. 

Sav's hair hung down around both their faces, curls shivering with every rough thrust. He slanted his lips across Joe's, sudden and fierce, opened enough to accept the aggressive tongue that spoke its praise against his teeth, the roof of his mouth, anywhere it could reach. As they pushed for completion, they almost always needed the added closeness of each other's kiss. He bucked his way to the tipping point and let go when he heard and felt the orgasmic screech from below, secure that Joe never minded the mess. Most of it was his, anyway, Joe's: the sticky-hot slather of lust and love between them was mortar to the necessary wall around them. Sav's inside him filled every chink in Joe's armor. 

As they lay panting side by side, no other movement now but their rising and falling ribs, a lone church bell tolled from a long way off. 

"Wazzat...?" 

"It's Christmas, Joe."

"Day before Christmas Eve..."

"Technicalities."

"So what do you want for Christmas, little boy?" 

"Honestly? To be home." Sav sounded wistful, as far away as that church bell. "One more day..."

Joe elbowed him. "I have some candy in my sack for you, if you're nice."

Sav grasped Joe's hand with surprising accuracy and guided it to his crotch. "Well aren't you gifted? My sack is almost empty--"

"Almost?" snorted Joe. 

"Shut it! It's your fault I need a refill. Best get to it." 

"How do I do that?" 

"You'll think of something."

Joe rolled onto his side, back to the curtain and Sav spooned in front of him. He wanted, needed this man all to himself, although millions got their shares of both of them. It had to be, the circular progression of give and take, or they'd have been just two more frustrated factory workers back in Sheffield with no way out. If no one else saw Sav like that, on the stage, bass strapped on, half his body bared and sweating, face distorted as he poured himself into his mic, then neither would Joe, it was a fact. 

There was noise around the sides of the bus now, underneath, as their most prized items were secured in compartments far below. Someone started the diesel engine. Maybe sometime in the next hour the heating would kick in. They listened to their band mates file in. Steve and Phil retreated to Phil's bunk. It wasn't long before Steve's stifled growls filled the space, and Phil squeaked once before they were both snoring. As for Rick, sweet MJ was what wafted out from under his curtain. "We should include him one of these days," murmured Sav, prodding a quick spike of Joe's possessiveness. 

"You're still awake?" For once, the singer kept his voice low. 

Sav snorted and muttered, "Can't sleep with that thing rutting my backside. Didn't I... satisfy you enough?" 

"'Course. I'm just too keyed up. Sometimes a man's just gotta get his own leg over, you know?" 

"...Mm-hm. So get it over." 

"Yeah. About Rick." Joe wouldn't let it go. 

"What? Doesn't seem right the rest of us all shacked up but he's alone." 

It was a logical argument, but Joe disagreed. "He's not ready." 

"If you say so. But don't you think that's his call?" 

"I do say so. And, not this time. It's gonna be years... maybe a decade." 

"Aw, hell, we'll be pushing 40 by then!" It really was a whine. 

"Then I'd best do you while I still can." 

"Nice excu-- oh gawd!" Sav was too loud, but nobody shushed him, least of all Joe. He was all ready and lined up to slide in just like that with nothing but his own slick to ameliorate the sting of entry, but Sav stopped him. "No," he hissed, "want you to be on top of me." 

The bunk was too shallow for doggy style - they'd tried and failed - so Sav rolled onto his belly, legs spread to the far sides of the thin mattress when Joe moved over him, also face-down. "Yessss..." Arching his back, he lay with his face turned to the side while Joe grabbed the bottle of lube and worked him just open enough. Their groans shivered their flesh and the air around them, it was all 'smack, smack, smack', fast and dirty, Joe fucking down and Sav fucking the hand he'd reached around. Joe had his face in the middle of Sav's back, licking the sweat off his spine and shoulder blades. Somehow, Sav had managed to get his knees tucked up to provide additional leverage as his hips jolted between the two points of contact. 

They heard the hiss of air brakes and then they were moving. The back end of the bus slid on a patch of ice but they would have sworn it was Joe's final thrust that threw it off-kilter for that split second before it righted itself. He was still shuddering, emptying the last drops his balls had to offer when Sav convulsed below him. In his fist, through it, swelling, pulsing, outpouring. Joe caught most of it in his hand, and wiped it on the inside wall. "Gross," Sav gurgled.

"You did it." 

"No, you did. I might not've... but you were so good, couldn't help it... You, you licked me..." They wiggled apart and returned to spooning, with some minor adjustments to avoid various wet spots. The fug inside the enclosed space was thick enough to cut with the proverbial knife now. Acclimated, they didn't even notice. 

"Ain't nobody licked you before, Babe?" Joe was more than aware of Sav's weak - and hot - spots. 

"Oh, shut up. Told you not to call me that." 

"Fine, Sav. Sav, Sav, Savvy Sav... are you gonna have... my baby?" Joe sing-songed, light-headed and silly. 

"You'd better hope not. I would fucking kill you if you knocked me up," Sav went along with Joe's banter. Thank whoever that wasn't a concern. Despite what people might say, he was confident enough in himself as a man that he wasn't bothered. "Maybe it's you who wants me to plant my seed, huh?" 

"No! Oh, no, no way..." Joe sounded affronted, even insulted, by the mere suggestion. 

"Got yah!" Sav snorted, then yawned widely for a full ten seconds. "Next time think about the words comin' out of your mouth." 

"How about... Happy, Christmas, Sav, now that we're all warm and sticky." 

"Yeah... think your sack is empty yet?"

Joe winced. "So empty. Dust." 

"Blanks?" 

"Aye." 

"My gift to you. Happy Christmas, Joe!"

 

Fin.


End file.
